


sparks

by jemmasimmmons



Series: dancing in our world alone (let them talk) [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, but this time at a roller rink!!, fitz is a dork and jemma gets her way...as usual, more sci-ops shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 17:56:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3177969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemmasimmmons/pseuds/jemmasimmmons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She beamed back at him, and, for a moment, Fitz felt another spark of static electricity charge through his chest as she looked at him. She had a way of doing it, like he was the only thing she wanted to see in the world, the only person she wanted to be with. Even if he was tottering rather worryingly on a pair of roller-skates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sparks

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is a continuation from my previous work 'windscreen wipers', set during Fitzsimmons's early time at sci-ops. A few people said that they would be interested in a sequel to that and, since I wanted to start a series, I thought why not? You don't have to have read the first one for this to make sense but it might help.  
> I have a few ideas for the next few instalments to this series but if you have any prompt ideas you like to see, I would always be grateful! I hope you enjoy this, and the rest of the series and thank you for reading!

There is something incredibly beautiful about the early morning, for those few people who are happy to bound out of bed before sunrise and start their days before the rest of the world has even opened an eyelid. There is something wonderful about catching the world at a delicate time, hovering between day and night, that takes your breath away.

Jemma was one of those people who loved being up early enough to see the sunrise. She liked watching the streaks of red and orange sunlight start to stream across the sky from her window, a mug of tea cradled in her hand, comforting warmth. She liked the quiet, the serenity of a time of day when precious few people were up and the world felt like it belonged only to her.

Even on one of the rare days off the S.H.I.E.L.D Sci-Ops facility rotated around its agents, Jemma found it hard to stay in bed past seven. S.H.I.E.L.D was frustratingly sparing with the free time it allowed for; when she had it, Jemma disliked wasting it.

One such free day came a few weeks after her disastrous driving lesson in the snow. Jemma pushed open her bedroom door at 7:02 am, privately congratulating herself on her success at staying in bed until what Fitz classified 'a reasonable hour' ( _what was an unreasonable hour_? Jemma had wanted to ask when he had grumbled about her early morning habits. _Surely all hours of the human day were reasonable?_ ), and padded down the hall. As she passed Fitz's room, she paused, only to hear the soft sound of his snores, which told her he was still dead to the world. In stark contrast to his partner, Leopold Fitz would stick to the sleep cycle of a sloth if he was allowed. Unfortunately for him, Jemma did not allow it.

The apartment the two of them shared was S.H.I.E.L.D issued; their neighbours above them were a pair of biotechnologists from the department alongside them at Sci-Ops and a lot of the flats below belonged to families of scientists they worked with. The flat was small but fully functional; a large open plan living area with a kitchen, dining area and a small television with a sofa, a short hallway leading to a bathroom and two double bedrooms. It was a perfect arrangement and one that they were both very content with.

As she trotted towards the kitchenette, Jemma twisted her hair up in a bun ontop of her head and grabbed a cardigan from the dining table; it didn't matter whose it was, they shared clothes like they shared lab equipment these days. She flicked the kettle on for tea and pulled the fridge open with a frown.

Normally, it was Fitz who informed her that they were running low on supplies, Fitz who dragged her out of the lab to the supermarket. Yesterday, however, she had gone alone, much to his dismay.

'You'll have brought all the wrong things!' he had protested bitterly when she had walked in the door of the lab the previous afternoon, her cheeks flushed with cold and her hands aching from carrying the plastic bags.

'You mean I'll have bought healthy things,' Jemma had teased, going over to their fridge facility to store the bags until it was time to head home, much to his further protests about contaminating food with chemical matter.

She didn't like making Fitz sulky, but she also didn't like him interfering with her plans, and this was one plan she was determined to execute perfectly.

 

 

The kettle finished boiling just as Jemma was fishing their largest frying pan out of a drawer; she turned back to it and poured the hot water into the teapot, before setting it carefully down on the table to keep warm. Then, she turned her attention back to the pan, and the bacon and eggs she was about to cook in it.

Breakfast was not a concept Jemma had ever been particularly keen on; she was perfectly satisfied with a cup of tea and a cereal bar in the morning, but she had learnt early on that food was a very effective bargaining chip with Fitz. Especially breakfast food.

She let the bacon slide into the pan with a sizzle, sending sparks of hot oil and fat jumping out. The hiss of the cooking was surprisingly loud in the quiet apartment, and Jemma switched on the fan above the hob, primarily to create some background noise, but also secondly in the hope that it would waft the stench of frying bacon towards the bedroom a little faster.

Sure enough, she was just flipping the bacon over when the sound of a bedroom door opening came from behind her.

'Is'at bacon?' Fitz asked, his voice still clouded with sleep.

Jemma allowed herself a satisfied smile.

 

 

Twenty minutes later, Jemma sat cross-legged on her chair with her second mug of tea in front of her, watching Fitz polish off the last of his bacon. There was still a rasher left on her plate, along with a spoonful of baked beans, which she could see he was eyeing.

'Here,' she said, pushing her plate over to him. 'I'm not going to finish it.'

Fitz's eyes lit up and he pulled the plate across the table and eagerly scooped the beans and bacon onto his plate. 'You're brilliant, you are,' he declared, his mouth already full of food. 'Thanks, Simmons.'

Jemma resisted the urge to roll her eyes; she was only ever 'brilliant' when she cooked for him, but, since it was her who still wanted something from him, she settled for a simple smile.

'You're welcome,' she half-sang, her excitement getting the better of her slightly and tapped her fingernails against the wood of the table. 'So, what next?'

'Huh?' Fitz ran his finger along the back of his knife, collecting the bean juice left there and licked it off. Jemma winced. 'What do you mean, 'next'? Back to bed, obviously.'

'You can't go back to bed now!' she protested. 'You're up!'

'Yes, and I can be back down on my bed just as easily.'

'But its our day off!'

Fitz rolled his eyes at her (God, did it look that infuriating when she did it?). 'Jesus, Simmons, we've been over this before. Work days are for working. Days off are for sleeping. And eating. But mostly sleeping.'

'But, _Fitz_ ,' Jemma whined, uncrossing her legs and leaning across the table towards him. 'We've been at Sci-Ops for almost three months now, and we've hardly done _anything_!'

'Oh, and you would classify extensive research into dentrotoxin formulae, cross-referencing dozens of papers on bio-hazards at the Triskelion and designing the DWARFS as  _nothing_ ?'

'I  _meant_ outside of the lab.'

The corners of Fitz's mouth twitched as he tried to hold back a smirk. 'What, you mean you don't count...'

'No, I most certainly don't count the driving lesson. The driving lesson no longer counts. For anything.'

After one look at her stony face, Fitz gave a deep sigh. 'What exactly did you have in mind today?'

Jemma perked up, and produced a neat little orange notebook from under the table.

'I made several plans,' she explained, setting the book down on the table in front of them and flicking through the pages to show him that each page was a different activity, complete with travel information, price guides and approximations of how long they would need to spend doing it.

'I wasn't sure which one you might prefer and it would be such a waste to spend the whole morning trying to find something to do, so...'

Fitz glanced at her curiously, his eyebrows scrunched up together in a frown. 'How long exactly have you been planning this?'

Jemma shifted in her seat. 'Since we heard we were getting a day off last week,' she said, trying not to sound sheepish (and failing). 'I had to make sure we had something to do, a way to get there, that we were up in time-' She broke off, guiltily.

Fitz looked down at his plate, then up to her, then back down to his plate. 'Traitor,' he accused.

'Forward thinker!' Jemma countered, though her cheeks were burning.

'What are your options then?' Fitz grunted, taking the book from her hands and flicking through the pages.

'There's the cinema,' Jemma began.

'God, no. There's been nothing good released in ages.'

'A river boat tour...'

'I'd get sea-sickness.'

'A craft exhibition?'

'Do I look like my mother?'

'Archery classes!'

'Absolutely not.'

Jemma groaned and snatched the book back. 'You are being deliberately uncooperative,' she complained, getting up from the table and stomping over to flop on the couch.

'I am not!' Fitz protested, following her around the table.

'You are! I bet that you would find an excuse to not do  _anything_ in this book,' Jemma accused. She brought her knees up to her chest and crossed her arms over them in a sulk, waiting.

Sure enough, just seconds later Fitz threw his arms up above his head and rolled his eyes up to the ceiling in frustration and she knew she had won. 'Alright, alright. Look, just give me the bloody book.'

He sat down heavily beside her and Jemma yielded up her notebook with minimal protest. 'Whatever page I open,' Fitz said. 'That's the activity we will do. On the condition,' he added in quickly, 'that next time we get a day off,  _I_ choose what we do. Deal?'

'Deal,' Jemma agreed. Maybe the time after _that_ she could coax him into a river tour.

Fitz closed his eyes and tilted his head back, setting his thumb between the pages of Jemma's notebook and opened it at a random page. He opened one eye and squinted down at the page he had landed on. Jemma leant forward to peer over his shoulder in curiosity.

'Well,' she said, brightly. 'That's interesting, isn't it?'

Fitz only seemed to trust himself to give her a heavy sigh in reply.

 

 

Two hours and several wrong turns later ('You're the one with the bloody map in your notebook, Simmons, how was I supposed to know which left to take?'), Fitz reluctantly held the door of the roller-rink open for Jemma to duck under his arm and head inside. He took one last lingering look at the outside world before following her through the door and letting it swing shut on his freedom behind them.

Roller-skating. Of all the activities Jemma had planned out, he had had to pick what was the probably going to be the most dangerous. Except maybe the archery lessons.

The world was laughing at him, Fitz decided, as he followed Jemma through the throngs of excited teenagers and hysterical small children collected in the lobby. That had to be the only explanation for this horrific use of his precious day off.

The roller-rink was in the middle of nowhere, not even recognised on Fitz's custom S.H.I.E.L.D GPS, yet somehow half of the United States seemed to be clustered inside the building. Children ran about under his feet, clutching skates in their sticky hands and squealing, while groups of older kids were hanging out by a few claw-grab arcade games by the door, jeering as one of them tried to catch a soft toy. Loud pop music was being blared out of the speakers at a deafening volume, but the lyrics were muffled by the babble of voices and laughter coming from the direction of the rink. To top it all off, the air absolutely stank of stale sweat and overly-sugary popcorn; Fitz wrinkled up his nose in disgust as Jemma reached the main desk and held out her cash for the man behind it to take.

'I don't suppose it's too late to revoke my decision on that craft fair?' he asked hopefully.

Jemma turned to him with a grin, a set of roller-skates held in each of her hands and thrust one pair into his arms.

'Much too late,' she replied, the look on her face almost apologetic. Then she smiled and turned back into the crowd, melting away as if she had never been there at all. Fitz allowed himself two seconds to close his eyes and curse his eternal bad luck (for picking roller-skating, for waking up that morning, for having a best friend who could manipulate him far too easily) before scurrying after Jemma before he lost her to the horrors of the roller-rink.

 

 

'So, are you saying you've actually never been roller-skating before?'

Fitz finished tying his skates laces and glanced up. He was sitting on a wooden bench just outside of the rink itself. Everything around him was panelled in wood and painted bottle-green; it was like some kind of evil log cabin from a fairytale. A fairytale from the mid 80's.

Jemma was sitting on the bench opposite him, still bent over her skates and her nimble fingers were lacing them up, tying the laces in neat bows. She hadn't looked up to talk to him, and her ponytail was flopped over the back of her head as she spoke, swinging back and forth like a pendulum.

'No,' Fitz replied, rapping his nails across the wood of the bench. 'Of course I've been roller-skating before, Simmons, don't be daft. I did have a childhood, you know.'

'But you just said you couldn't do it.'

'Because I can't! I was utterly rubbish as a kid, couldn't even stand up on them, let alone actually skate.'

Jemma flipped her head up from her skates and brushed her hair back off her face. 'Anyone can skate, Fitz,' she told him, flashing him a disapproving look. 'It's simple physics!'

'Yeah, well, no one told that to my feet,' Fitz muttered.

Jemma rolled her eyes, and stood up. Somehow, she managed to do it as gracefully as if she hadn't been wearing shoes with miniature wheels on the bottom, and gently pushed her body forward so that she rolled over the floor towards him. Instinctively, Fitz's hands shot up from his sides and up towards her, in an attempt to stop her from falling over him. But before that could happen, Jemma carefully pointed her toes inwards so that her shoes nudged into each other and she came to a halt right in front of him.

'See?' She held out her hands in a smug gesture. 'Physics.'

Fitz scowled. 'Right,' he muttered. 'Physics.'

She held out her hands to him, palms up. 'Come on.'

Hesitantly, Fitz glanced up at her. 'I'll fall,' he said.

'You won't.'

'I _will_.'

Jemma leant forward so that her hands were resting on his palms that were still hovering in mid air, as if in surrender.

'Fitz,' she said, quietly. 'I promise you I won't let you fall.'

Fitz swallowed; his throat was suddenly incredibly dry and was it his palms that were suddenly sweaty or was it hers? 'I don't think that's really up to you, Simmons,' he said.

She smiled at him and closed her fingers around his. 'Try me,' she said.

 

 

He'd made it to his feet.

By some minor miracle (otherwise known as Jemma Simmons), Fitz had managed to stand up on roller-skates and, clutching onto Jemma's hands, had gingerly rolled the four feet over to one of the entrances to the rink, where he now hovered, his arms firmly wrapped around one of the bollards and his legs held rigidly in position, unable to move for fear of overbalancing.

He was watching Jemma. She was skating freely among the other skaters, one leg pushing out in front of the other, over and over, so that her body was moving so fluidly that it almost looked like she was gliding through water. She was moving swiftly, faster than many of the other skaters, and she looked far more graceful than all of them. Fitz had never really thought of his best friend as being particularly graceful before. If anything, he had always thought of her as being slightly ditzy, maybe even a little clumsy. But on skates, Jemma had all the grace of a prima ballerina. Had she always been like that? Was he only just noticing now?

As he watched, Jemma spread out her arms a little and twisted her body to the side. Fitz's breath caught in his throat and for one moment he thought she was going to topple over, but instead, she started to twirl. Her feet slid over each other while her arms guided her body round and round, her head tipped slightly back and she was laughing, the pure image of glee. She was spinning so quickly, Fitz could have sworn he could see sparks leaping from the back of her skates and dancing around her legs.

He hadn't realised he was stared until she glanced up and caught his eye. With flushed cheeks, her spins came to a halt and she skated over to him, her eyes bright and shining.

'You're really good at this,' Fitz managed to say. 'Like, really, really good.'

Jemma shrugged modestly, still a little breathless. 'I told you, anyone can skate. It's just...'

'...Physics,' Fitz finished for her, and there was no bitterness in his tone.

Jemma pursed her lips together and, after a little pause, beamed up at him. 'Are you coming out then?' she asked.

Fitz hesitated, his heart starting to beat harder in his chest. 'Aah...I think I'm okay here, actually, Simmons,' he said decidedly. 'You keep going.'

' _Fitz_.' Jemma's eyes were wide and pleading. 'You can't just stand here for the entire hour.'

'Course I can!'

'No, you can't, I won't let you,' Jemma declared, folding her arms over her chest stubbornly.

Fitz sighed, running his hand through his hair. 'Simmons, I told you. I'll fall. I'm rubbish at the whole balancing thing, I'll just embarrass myself.'

'You didn't fall over when you came over from the bench,' she pointed out.

'Yeah, but that was only because...' _You were holding my hand_.

Fitz stopped before he said the words and bit his lower lip.

Jemma's face had a look of dawning understanding and the corners of her mouth twitched up in a smile.

'Come on, then,' she said, unfolding her arms and holding out her hands to him.

Fitz stared at her, feeling the heat rush to his cheeks in an alarmingly fast fashion. 'Jemma, I am not waltzing around a roller-rink for the next hour holding onto your hand,' he said gruffly, crossing his arms.

'It doesn't have to be for the next hour, Fitz, honestly,' she said briskly, but he noticed that she had also coloured, but in a pretty, delicate kind of way. 'Just until you get the hang of it.'

'Or I fall over.'

'I told you,' Jemma said, with an exasperated sigh Fitz had heard a million and one times. 'I'm not going to let you fall.'

Slowly, she reached out and pulled his arms apart, sliding her hands down his arms until they fell into his own. 'I promise.'

Fitz inhaled deeply and closed her hands in his. As he did so, a slight electric shock jumped between them, a small spark caused only by a discharge of her particles onto him, static electricity passing between them both. Jemma's hands were warm and soft and fitted perfectly inside his own.

'I'm holding you to that one, you know,' Fitz told her.

Jemma gave his hands a quick squeeze. 'I know.'

 

 

'Now, keep your legs further apart, not close together. See, the reason why you think you're going to fall is because your centre of gravity keeps shifting...'

'Oh, really? And here I was thinking it was because I was standing on tiny wheeled shoes on a polished surface.'

'Oh, Fitz.'

Jemma was skating backwards, her feet sliding along the floor effortlessly. Fitz was still holding loosely onto her hands, his feet making awkward, shuffling motions every so often, but mostly she was just pulling him along. It was more than a little embarrassing, actually, but somehow Fitz couldn't bring himself to let go of her.

They made several hesitant circles of the rink, Jemma patiently waiting for a clear opening before guiding him through a group of skaters, pausing occasionally to point out a movement of particular friction or explain a law of physics. Fitz knew everything she was telling him already, of course. But it was nice to hear her say it.

'This is getting ridiculous,' he grumbled at the end of their fourth rotation of the rink. 'There are children who are skating better than I am.'

'Well, I could let go of your hands now, see how you do without me,' Jemma offered, her hands sliding out from under him.

Fitz's heart leapt to his mouth in panic, and he staggered forward to grab at her wrists. 'Uh, no, no. No, it's okay.'

Jemma giggled and Fitz huffed indignantly. 'Stop laughing at me!'

'I'm not!'

'Yes, you are!'

'Not _at_ you, Fitz.' She wriggled her hands out from under his grasp and linked her fingers securely through his again, before pushing herself a little faster around the rink. Fitz found himself being tugged after her and a course of adrenaline flooded his veins.

'I didn't laugh at your driving,' he pointed out after a moment, while struggling to keep his feet underneath him.

'Well, no, that's true. You did yell at me though.'

Fitz winced as he remembered, guilt swirling in his gut. 'Yeah, I know. Sorry.'

'Fitz, you already apologised.'

'Oh, yeah. Well, sorry again.'

'Apology accepted. Again.' She squeezed his fingers and the knots in his stomach relaxed ever so slightly.

They were moving faster now, and Fitz's feet were beginning to move of their own accord, mirroring the movement's Jemma's feet were making as she waltzed them around the rink.

'Are you sure you don't want me to give driving another go?' she asked him hesitantly as they skirted around a man with two small girls clutching at his legs in terror.

'What?' Fitz was concentrating too much on his feet; he tripped slightly and would have fallen flat on his face if Jemma hadn't caught him. 'Thanks.'

'You're welcome.' She was biting her lip. 'I mean, if you want to have a drink when we go out with the mechanics guys again, I really don't mind...'

'Jemma, it's fine,' he reassured her. 'Honest. I don't mind driving.' The slight tension that had appeared in her shoulders eased slightly; Fitz knew that she was just as scared of driving as he was of falling. He wasn't going to make her do it again.

'Besides,' he added, glancing up from their feet to flash her an impish grin. 'What kind of S.H.I.E.L.D agent would I be if I didn't do all I could to protect the world from your hideous driving?'

'Oh, that's very funny.'

'It's the truth!'

'Honestly, Fitz...'

'Hey, you got a laugh at my expense, I wanted one as well.'

Jemma shook her head, but he could tell she was trying not to smile. 'Well, now that you have successfully levelled the non-existent score,' she said, pointing her toes inwards again to pull them to a gentle stop. 'Do you think you have had enough skating for one day? Because I really fancy a hot chocolate at that café we passed a mile back down the road.'

Fitz gave his best friend a relieved smile. 'Simmons,' he declared. 'You read my mind.'

She beamed back at him, and, for a moment, Fitz felt another spark of static electricity charge through his chest as she looked at him. She had a way of doing it, like he was the only thing she wanted to see in the world, the only person she wanted to be with. Even if he was tottering rather worryingly on a pair of roller-skates.

Suddenly, Jemma's face fell and her eyebrows shot up. 'Fitz, move,' she ordered, abruptly dropping his hands and giving him a hard shove to the left.

He yelped, staggering a few feet away from her just as Jemma put up her hands to try and deflect the man with the two little girls, who was skating backwards with little control, from colliding with her. Her attempt was pretty futile, given the force with which the man was moving, and Jemma only succeeded in pushing him to the right before stumbling backwards herself.

Fitz bit on his cheek to keep himself from swearing out-loud and lurched forward to catch her. He managed to grab onto the hem of her sleeve before she fell, with a little shriek and Fitz found his legs falling out from under him too, the wheels of his skates leaving the floor as he tumbled after her.

Luckily, he managed to only fall as far as his knees; they hit the wooden floor with a crack that made Fitz grunt aloud. He had flung out his arms to break his fall so they were now pressed on either side of Jemma's head as she lay on the floor, her expression that of a startled rabbit. Their faces were pressed so close together Fitz could see the pulse of her veins in her neck.

'Oh, God,' Fitz muttered, quickly pushing his hands away from her and kneeling up in a crouch, wincing slightly at the pain in his knees.

'Are you alright?'

Jemma sat up and reached out a hand to hold his arm; she nodded. 'Yes, yes, fine, are you...?'

'Yeah, yeah, I'm okay.'

Fitz glanced around quickly to see if any of the skaters had noticed their accident. A few had; several were muffling laughter behind their hands and Fitz was relieved to see someone hold out a hand to the man who had knocked into them to help him up. Someone else bent down to offer them help getting up too, but Jemma brushed them off and, leaning on him, gingerly got to her feet and then pulled him up after her.

'Are you sure you're okay?' she asked again, her eyes wide with concern.

'Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, honest.' Fitz hesitated before speaking again. 'Although...'

Jemma jumped on the word. 'Although?' she repeated, worry creasing up her face as she scanned him anxiously for bruises and broken bones.

Fitz gave her a shrug. 'I kind of think you broke your promise,' he said casually, then gave her a sly wink.

She hit him on the arm for that, and he probably deserved it too, but the look on her face made it all worth it.

 

 

'Technically, though,' Jemma pointed out later, licking the chocolate foam off her spoon. 'I didn't break my promise.'

Fitz raised an eyebrow at her curiously. 'Oh?'

'Yes, technically. I didn't _let_ you fall. You fell after _me_.'

Fitz smiled, as he lifted his steaming mug to his lips. 'Right. Course I did.'

 


End file.
